Healing Grief
by Anniah
Summary: Lucas has just lost his parents and beloved sister to Voldemort. Alone and friendless within the hostile environment of Hogwarts, he plunges himself into the Lake. But instead of meeting his end, he finds a strange creature that leads to a new life.


**Healing Grief**

**Chapter I**

It began to rain.

A rather romantic cliché in itself, but an unwanted cliché nevertheless. The idea was lost on Lucas as he streaked a line through the cold and unforgiving castle. His mind was no longer running the tracks of earthly and mundane thought. No, it was safe to say his train of thought had derailed and crash was imminent. His sorrow had reached the edges of containment and threatened to spill. Despite this, no one raised a head as he passed them, no one bothered to register his distress. What did it matter as long as long as it wasn't them? _Anyone else but me_, the whole population of the castle would silently pray. You couldn't help being selfish in the atmosphere such as the one smothering pupils and teachers alike in Hogwarts.

The whole of Ravenclaw common room fell silent. That was how it began. Lucas had been reading in a far off corner when Flitwick's small voice had piped up. He had been sitting at a black marbled window seat, hiding away from reality. Outside the mountains loomed up, blackened peaks with small white tops of snow gradually proceeding down the slopes with the oncoming of winter. The sky was a milky white, a stark contrast against the gloomy outline of the Forbidden forest and the thrashing waters of the Lake, and yet a bluish tint was beginning to seep into the bellies of the clouds, hailing the oncoming of rain. Lucas shuffled on his cream satin pillows, a comfort to the biting marble beneath, and flicked a page of his novel, completely unaware of the enclosing silence around him.

Whispers such as: _Another one! Third time this week! _began to murmur throughout the room in small waves, a repetitive movement that eventually aroused Lucas from his reverie. He didn't want to emerge from his mental haven, a place in which he could escape the horrors of simply living; he already knew what the interest would be about. To involve himself would just be exposing himself to more of the suffering mounting up around him. But a tingling awareness sent shivers rippling across his skin, a dull idea that began to seep into his brain with a slow dawning terror that threatened to drown him. _Perhaps . . . perhaps I'm next, _a small voice permeated his turmoiled thoughts.

He looked up slowly to see the entire esteemed House of Ravenclaw bowing their heads and staring pointedly at the floor in a stance that had been adopted and used all too many times in the latest months. A pair of kindly but watery-with-age eyes looked mournfully straight at Lucas. A weight settled in his stomach. _No, no, no, no, no, NO!_ The voice shouted over and over but Lucas wasn't listening. The book slid from his hands and thumped onto the floor, an empty sound that made his closest housemates wince. _There's still hope, _he told himself weakly. But then the conformation came in rolling tidal waves of pain and oblivion.

"Lucas Denning, a word please." His Head of House's voice quavered and tremored apologetically. Lucas felt his feet moving, all the while his world slipping from his grasp and smashing into shattered pieces upon the floor, shining shards of hopes and dreams that would now never be. The door opened and closed and in the echoing silence of the chilly hall outside he felt a kind of detachment, as if this was an unreality, a dream he would soon and relievedly emerge from. Unfortunately this was not so.

"I don't know how to say this, my boy," Flitwick mumbled feebly. Lucas ignored the hand upon his shoulder that was supposed to be a comfort, a guard against the dark and looming real world that suddenly seemed so much scarier than a few seconds ago. He shrugged the frail hand off rudely and faced his Head of House, a man who was designated to help and protect him, not to tell him these things.

"Elyssa too?" Lucas' voice trembled violently, a disbelieving mask of shock upon his face. A small nod from Flitwick sent him striding down the spiralling staircase in utter meltdown, the feeble cries of his Professor only caused him to speed up until he was running and running and running, until his lungs stung, his heart felt like it was bursting and each breathe was a searing pain in his side. He reveled in the physical pain that took away the barrage of emotion and crippling feeling, pushing himself harder until it seemed his very veins were on fire.

He streaked down the spiral staircase that led to his common room and along the cold and narrow corridors, endless alleys that led to nowhere but musty classrooms and abandoned closets. Hundreds of portraits and magical paintings sped past in a blur of faded colours and peeling paint, the golden gilt frames beginning to rot and flake. Lucas had taken his shoes off when he'd sat down to read, now the piercing cold of October cut into his soles as they skipped across the flagstones. Faces, statues, doorways, paintings, tapestries, robes, all rushing by, all existing for just a second before they were replaced by a different view as he ran and ran. How quickly the world built up and disintegrated before his very eyes. The cold, the fear, the pain, the constant dragging terror. This was Hogwarts. This was Hell.

He ran outside, the giant doors that heralded the entrance to the castle boomed shut with an ominous thud that rang out for what felt like eternity. They seemed to say: _You are no longer wanted here, leave. _He wished he could leave, wished with all his heart that there was still a home to which he could return. Alas, if only so. He stepped from the cold stone steps onto the front lawn bordering the Lake. The clouds had ripped open in despair, spilling their contents over the surrounding world. A sheet of thin grey drizzle enveloped Lucas, instantly misting his clothes in damp. His bare toes curled around the wet, cool grass.

Lucas looked at the grey, sobbing landscape around him, every cell in his body telling him this wasn't right. He opened his mouth to breathe but instead a groan shivered through him, keening across the gloomy green, the birds rising from the nearest trees. He collapsed to his knees, the stuttering wails of anguish doing nothing to fill the black hole sucking away his entire soul and being. The sky split wider in sorrow, icy teardrops cascading earthwards in a shimmering curtain, soaking his robes, bringing his skin out in bumps. He didn't notice, but continued to scream, a shattering sound that struck the sky and called for a response. Ribbons of light streamed down, followed by thundering roaring.

Lucas was lost; lost between the flickering, cracking heavens and the sodden, cold ground, mud beginning to seep between his toes. What a harsh place the world was, when you really came to look at it. His face was the only warm part of his body, hot from the tears streaming from his eyes, salt stinging his cracked lips. He looked towards the lake, the black expanse of constant ripples, waving, spreading, merging, until more water drops would start the dance again. It looked as if the surface was swarming with water bugs. Lucas imagined deeper than the top sheet to think of the icy, calm beneath; a place to cool the aching throb and piercing pains in his chest and gush into the growing black hole. He stumbled up, tumbling towards the rippling mirror, cutting his feet on the sharp stones of the thin strip that separated grass from water. Small waves licked at his soles, cooling the bleeding arches of his feet. Normally the cold would have pierced Lucas' bones, but now he was in the planes above physical pain. The water surged to his knees, then his thighs, sucking him into the quiet bliss beneath. The blood roared through his ears in the thick silence, a vast space of emptiness. Above, the trees thrashed and the thunder crashed, but below there was an eerie stillness. Lucas closed his eyes and waited for his lungs to give out, waited to join his family. Memories flashed through his mind . . .

And then he was wading through liquid gold, the sun shining on his bare shoulders. A field, his field, his home. The sound of musical laughter trickled through the yellow stalks. A bird launched itself from a green, giant oak at the edge of the field, skimming its wingtip across the bobbing wheat heads and soaring towards the farmhouse. It was a low building, sprawled across the surrounding land and bordered by the diligent followers of barns, sheds, stores and garages. The crumbling stone building and its faded red tile roof looked ramshackled but welcoming nevertheless. Lucas could imagine entering through the back door by a small walled in garden of home-grown herbs. The low door frame would cause his tall frame to stoop and inside he would be greeted by the warm smell of baking bread and the fresh tang of dried herbs hanging from the hook originally designed to dry out meats in winter. His Mother would be bustling about, tutting to herself and requesting he remove his shoes. The large flagstones underfoot would be cold despite the weather. The sounds of the farm would permeate the kitchen; cattle lowing a goodbye to the diminishing sun as they were herded into the shed for the evening, clanking as his Father manipulated the machine, one of the dogs barking at a stray chicken in the gravelly yard. The sound of laughter brought his mind back to the field, glinting copper-gold in the dying sun. A head popped up from between the stalks a little way a way.

"Come on, Luke. You weren't even trying then," the small girl chided, wrinkling her freckled nose. A breeze sent the golden sea rippling and swaying, crickets chirped and butterflies dipped in and out of the wheat. The sky above was a deep blue, small, full clouds tinted sunset pink. The girl frowned, tossing her black ringlets over her shoulder and observing him with pale, clear blue eyes. Lucas could see she was wearing a country style green chequered dress that fluttered in the breeze. Elyssa smiled.

"What are you staring at? I'll hide again; give me ten seconds this time." Her black locks disappeared beneath the golden waves and Lucas obediently turned around and closed his eyes.

One . . .

This was their favourite game.

Two . . .

In the late Summer when the wheat was long and Elyssa had grown tired of exploring the various nooks and crannies of the farm and had finished discovering old, strange items in the backs of sheds and barns, she would call him out to the field.

Three . . .

They called it Tiger In The Grass.

Four . . .

It was Elyssa's turn to be the Tiger, creeping through the grass as quietly as possible.

Five . . .

Lucas was the Hunter. His job was to seek out the Tiger.

Six . . .

Elyssa was quiet on her feet and loved to jump out behind Lucas before he could even find her.

Seven . . .

Little, eleven year old Elyssa, who didn't need the magic Lucas coveted; she had her own special magic.

Eight . . .

Little, intelligent, always-smiling Elyssa, who would wait each summer faithfully by the door for the sound of the car that would herald her brother's return, jumping into his arms as he stepped out.

Nine . . .

Little, playful, beautiful Elyssa, who would run behind the car as it drove up the long gravel lane away from the farm, never faltering, never to stop waving, always shouting: "I'll see you next Summer, Big Brother!", her tiny legs moving as fast as they could.

Ten . . .

Lucas opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. The rustling of stalks had disappeared to be replaced by a strange roaring and crackling. The field had been shaved, a thin stubble of grass growing in its place, hardly distinguishable in the blackness of night. A cold Autumn wind assaulted Lucas' front, although his back felt strangely warm. The roaring grew and the field became illuminated by an orange glow as if the sun had risen early. Lucas turned.

Burning barns, hooded black figures, the crash of timbre, a high pitched scream, the yelp of a dog suddenly impaled, blazing flames, the silhouetted skeleton of the house, a yell, spells rippling through the air, a small figure tumbling to the ground, ash stinging his eyes, tears, a shimmering mark unfolding itself upon the smoky sky, silence . . .

Lucas stared into the black silence through slitted eyelids. The ache in his chest intensified. A pale orb floated into his vision. Perhaps this is the way back to them, Lucas thought, extending his arm and stretching out his fingers. He opened his eyes wider as his fingers slid across slippery skin. The face in front of him opened its mouth, eyes wide in shock. A webbed hand, long slender fingers, shot up to cover the mouth and its small sharp fangs, the green, algae-like hair swirling, like a halo, around its neck. Before Lucas could remove his hand from its cheek his vision blurred. Suddenly the world was green-blue, sharp, vivid; he could see for several metres beneath him, the flash of a fish darting by, the whole body of water showed seething patterns of blue against green, like ink in water. He could now see past the face to its body, _her body. _She looked upwards, eyes wide, confused, and was then, suddenly, surging away, tail flicking back and forth. Lucas' vision clouded, a black haze spilling around the edges. His brain screamed at him to breathe. He opened his mouth.

The sky was roaring on the surface, icy rain lashing down and stinging his cheeks. He had a quick chance to take a sharp ragged breath before water surged over the crown of his head and he was plunged back into the black silence. He felt a tug at his collar, a sharp yank and then he emerged once again into confusion. He thought he heard the gruff growl of "Gotchya" and more tugs at his collar before the blackness around his vision invaded and his mind shutdown.

- - - - -

Lucas sat at his favourite window seat, back against the marble frame and legs bent in front of him, staring out at the castle grounds. The storm had lasted for three days, but now, five days after it had passed, the landscape had still not fully recovered from the destruction. Huge branches and forest debris were scattered across the lawn and even a few tiles and a stone gargoyle, its waterspout mouth an 'O' of frustration, lay where they had toppled. No one had the heart to replace them, the storm only adding to the black mood of the castle. To top it off, the astronomy tower had suffered an attack of lightning, meaning all stargazing lessons were cancelled. Only the giant, lumbering frame of Hagrid could be seen pottering about the grounds, hauling posts to repair fencing, dragging branches back into the Forbidden Forest or chopping up the larger ones for firewood, his large dog sniffing at his heels. No one bothered to help him.

Lucas was dismissed from the Hospital wing after two days without a word of comfort. He was not the first suicide attempt of the year. And so he took refuge at his small window, his isolated world. For the first time in weeks, a faint October sunshine lit up the peaks of the mountains, making the Lake glitter as if there were a thousand candles beneath the surface. Lucas stared at the glassy pool curiously, foggy images of an ethereal Being flitting through his mind.

"Down there, in the blackness, the Mermaids swim,

A cathedral of darkness, built by Wizard's whim,

Unearthly light the stones do glow,

There Old Magic the Beings did sow,

Awaiting the time when boy of both blood,

The battlefield his power would flood,

The scaled ones of three limb guard the gate,

Awaiting the boy with destined fate."

"What?" The dreamy voice had cut through Lucas' reverie like a sharp knife. The girl continued to look out at the black expanse of Lake, the shimmering fire of the sun reflected in her eyes. Then she blinked and the fire died.

"What did you just say?" he asked her as she turned to leave.

"I asked if you perhaps saw any Spotted Grumplesprouts while you were down there." Lucas furrowed his brow in confusion. "I was thinking of learning the Bubble-Head charm so I could go and record a sighting. Did you know there have been over twenty sightings but not one verified recording of them? Sometimes I don't know what the Ministry does with its time." Lucas stared incredulously at the blond, frizzy haired girl with what looked like two miniaturised pot plants hanging from her ears.

"They fight Wars," he spat out.

"Well, a silly job they're doing of it. You and I should both know," the girl stated lightly.

"What would you know!?" Lucas shouted, his insides feeling as if they would explode with anger. "What would you know about loss, or hurt? You're just a silly little girl who spends too much time with her head in the clouds. Leave me alone, I don't have time for your stupid day dreams."

"Grief can't be healed by anger, Lucas. Sometimes it is easier to lose yourself in the miraculous, the amazing, rather than let your heart sink heavy."

Lucas snorted and moved his gaze towards the landscape, bleary, dreary, grey . . . his world, his life.

"I had a mother once," the girl said, as if it was some strange event rarely experienced. "I had a mum who tucked me into bed, she read me stories and sung me songs. She picked out my dresses for me and tied my hair in pretty bunches. I had a mum who smiled like a million candles and told me stories about the strange animals I could one day go out and discover. She told me I'd always be loved, she told me I'd amount to something. I had a mum who worked for the ministry. They were always asking her to make things and she was so clever sometimes I could see her brain whirring like a thousand moths trapped in a cage. Then one day suddenly they all escaped in a giant explosion. Now they fly up in the sky and whisper words of comfort to me when I'm sad. I had a mum who died. I had a mum once."

Lucas closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry. Have your own sorry and I'll have mine and we can live in silly sorry forever, but it won't bring anyone back." She turned to leave, her pot-plant earrings swishing dramatically.

"Luna!" Lucas called. She looked over at him with those blank, staring eyes that told of a person who wasn't entirely present. "Does – does it ever get easier?"

"No."


End file.
